


Sunstroke

by justheretobreakthings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Keith's year in the desert, Pre-Canon, heatstroke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 14:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justheretobreakthings/pseuds/justheretobreakthings
Summary: He had been overconfident, that was the problem, he figured as he pulled his hoverbike to a stop in order to take a swig of water from his canteen, water that had been ice-cold when he’d left the shack and that now had gone warm enough to taste like a remarkably bland and slightly metallic soup. He had been born and raised in the desert, had made it his home again, and had spent far more time out here in the dust and heat than anyone else he knew.The warning to stay indoors, he had decided, was for everyone else, the softer folk who weren’t accustomed to braving the desert the way he was.





	Sunstroke

**Author's Note:**

> For [patienceyieldsfocusfanfics](https://patienceyieldsfocusfanfics.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

Admittedly, he should have been more prepared for this. The radio had warned him yesterday morning about the climbing temperatures, advising people to stay indoors this week as the always sweltering Arizona desert reached its yearly high, predicted to get up to a hundred and nine degrees at its peak.

It had probably reached that peak already, Keith figured. Personally, he felt certain that the heat had gone right past it, probably lingering at around three hundred degrees or so. At least, that’s certainly what it felt like.

He had been overconfident, that was the problem, he figured as he pulled his hoverbike to a stop in order to take a swig of water from his canteen, water that had been ice-cold when he’d left the shack and that now had gone warm enough to taste like a remarkably bland and slightly metallic soup. He had been born and raised in the desert, had made it his home again, and had spent far more time out here in the dust and heat than anyone else he knew.

The warning to stay indoors, he had decided, was for everyone else, the softer folk who weren’t accustomed to braving the desert the way he was.

And besides, as of late every moment that he didn’t spend exploring those caves and studying those markings felt like a moment wasted, so  _of course_  he was going to take his hoverbike out here again. What else was there to do?

He capped his canteen and wound its strap back over the tail of his hoverbike before climbing back onto the seat. Before he got it moving again, though, he leaned forward, folding his arms across the handlebars and resting his forehead on top of them, breathing through his nose. He had been feeling nauseous for a little while now, and just a little dizzy. And he knew, of course, that those weren’t good signs.

His dad had made sure to instruct him on warning signs of heat exhaustion long ago, on a day when he’d clambered onto the porch after playing outside chasing a desert hare and complaining to his dad about his head hurting and feeling tired. Within seconds he was sat at the kitchen table right next to the air conditioning unit, a cup of water in his hands and a cool washcloth on his head dripping into his hair. And his dad had filled the rest of the evening with instructions on how to tell if you’re overheating and what to do if it happens. Keith certainly gained a new appreciation for air conditioning that night.

“The desert’s a wild beast, kid,” his dad had told him. “You can’t tame her, and if you go in without bein’ prepared, she’s gonna devour you. You learn her rules, though, and you follow ‘em, and she’ll leave you alone. All just a matter of showin’ her the respect she’s due.”

Keith sure as hell respected the desert. Respected it enough to have dedicated months of his life to it. It was the rule following that was proving difficult.

He knew on some level that his racing pulse wasn’t due to adrenaline. He wasn’t doing anything risky or fancy enough on his hoverbike at the moment to be getting an adrenaline rush. And he knew was the steady throbbing ache in his head and in his muscles was about, and he was perfectly aware that feeling sleepy the way he was while out under the bright sun was a bad sign.

But it was a little too late. He’d already come this far out into the desert.

The caves that he had been studying were his destination, and by this point they were closer than his shack was. And there was water there, extra jugs that he’d brought over on past trips just in case he needed an emergency supply. His dad hadn’t necessarily told him that he had to go home when he was starting to overheat, just that he had to get some place that was cooler in temperature, that was shaded from the sun, and that had water. The cave with the lion etchings matched all three criteria. He just had to reach it.

And if it weren’t for the dizziness that the heat and sunlight had brought on, he probably would have. As it was, though, it was that lightheadedness that was responsible for Keith screwing up a turn on a rocky ledge that should have been second nature to him.

His hoverbike skidded out from underneath him, and he lost his grip on the handlebars. He hit the ground hard on his palms, knees burning from friction as they slid on the ground beneath him, as he wiped out in the dirt and dust. His bike skidded away from him, slowing as it reached the ledge and almost coming to a stop before, slowly, as if taunting Keith about the whole ordeal, it tipped over the edge and tumbled out of sight.

Keith cursed beneath his breath, swallowing some of the dust that the wipeout had kicked out, and coughed it away as he staggered to his feet and scrambled to look down over the ledge. It didn’t look like the bike had fallen  _too_  far, he decided. Maybe a twenty-foot drop. Probably even shorter; vertigo was starting to mess with his perception. Either way, he could make it down there and get his bike back up and running in no time. He’d have to take a different route around this cliffside, but it shouldn’t take him more than a few minutes out of his way.

Unfortunately, getting down there, as he soon discovered, was easier said than done. The crag’s face was much smoother than he had anticipated, and it took him a few minutes just to find an area where the rocks looked varied enough for him to find a foothold to start.

He lowered himself down over the side when he did find one, pressing himself against the wall as he balanced his toes on inches of outcrop a good three feet below him. After that, it was just a matter of edging downward, inch by laborious inch, hands and feet on anything that could hold his weight.

And his folly was once again overconfidence. Halfway down, he lent all the weight of his left foot onto a little foothold that he had been so certain was solid, only to have it crumble beneath him and send the rest of him sliding down along the cliff’s edge, pebbles and dirt breaking off of his heels as he went.

Surprisingly, he managed to land on his feet - his movements and reflexes had always been abnormally cat-like, he had been told in the past - but the force of the landing was still enough to send him toppling to the ground right after.

He heaved a breath and rolled over onto his back, shutting his eyes against the blinding sunlight and trying to focus on anything other than his headache, which had elevated from throbbing to pounding, as if someone were repeatedly taking a bat to the back of his skull. Stupid heat. Stupid sun. Stupid cliff.

Stupid him for thinking he was capable of fighting the beast that was the desert.

He pried his eyes open, intent on making his way back to the bike and grabbing his canteen, but he shut them again with a groan at the sight before him. His dad had told him that the biggest sign that the desert had won was hallucinations.

“And I’m talkin’  _real_  hallucinations,” his dad had said. “Not mirages.”

“Mirages?” Keith had repeated curiously.

“Yeah, a mirage is when you look off into the distance in the desert and you think you see water. The way it looks like there’s waves and that the sun’s reflectin’ off the water’s surface. That ain’t a hallucination, ‘cause everyone sees it. It’s just an optical illusion, on account of the way sunlight moves through air when it gets that hot. Hallucinations, though, those are things to worry about. Those are when your mind’s gone loopy enough that you’re seein’ things right in front of you that ain’t there. When the heat and the sun have gotten that deep in your head? That’s the desert playin’ with her food right before she eats it.”

Keith was more than familiar with mirages, had long ago learned not to chase things on the horizon unless he knew for sure it was really there.

This wasn’t a mirage, though, and he was too far from shade and coolness and water to get his head back on again, so he simply relaxed against the hot dirt beneath him, too dizzy from the sun to think rationally about the fact that it was absolutely essential that he get up, get to his canteen,  _definitely_  not fall asleep in this heat and this sun.

He was hallucinating, and that was the end of the line. He had to be hallucinating.

Because what other explanation could there be for the transparent, slightly glowing imprint of an enormous blue lion, the one that the cave drawings had told him about, floating in the sky above him and staring down, concerned and determined, directly at him?

**Author's Note:**

> Want a mini fic from me to you? I'm writing one-shots for anyone who writes a fic or makes art that features aro/ace Keith, and tags me in it @justheretobreakthings on tumblr!


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